


Silence

by sylwrites



Series: break free and run [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety, College AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 08:36:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10081661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylwrites/pseuds/sylwrites
Summary: Keep the ones that heard you when you never said a word.Bughead College AU.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a college-age AU, where Veronica never moved to town, Jason Blossom was never murdered, and Betty and Archie dated and broke up in high school.

**Silence**

_ Keep the ones that heard you when you never said a word. _

_ - _

 

Everyone looks exactly like her. 

 

That’s Betty’s first impression of college. Sure, it’s New England, but Boston is a big, diverse city. Surely every college freshman at Boston University wasn’t a blonde girl in leggings, ankle boots, and a sweater. Looking around her Criminology 110 lecture hall, however, Betty’s not so sure. Somehow about halfway through last year blonde hair had come back in style, and many of the girls around her had almost the exact same shade. Plus, leggings and a sweater seemed to be the unofficial college-girl uniform. She could not possibly have stood out less.

 

(Betty isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not. She also kind of feels like she’s now part of some kind of weird army.)

 

The professor walks in front of the large hall and greets the class, his voice clear over speakers. He begins to write his name on the whiteboard and then gestures to an assistant, who turns on a powerpoint presentation that Betty guesses is supposed to serve as the basis for her next hour’s notetaking. 

 

She’s opened a fresh document on her laptop and is just typing out the professor’s name when someone slides into the seat next to her.

 

Betty knows without glancing over exactly who it is. There were three clues: first, the lecture hall easily seated 400 and the class was less than 150, so there were plenty of open seats that were not directly next to a person and that would be easier to slide into if someone were to be late to class. Second, Betty only knew one other person in Boston. And third, that person always smelled exactly like the person seated beside her.

 

“Hey Jughead,” Betty whispers, looking over anyway. “You haven’t missed anything. He just started.”

 

Jughead Jones pulls his laptop out of his messenger bag, brushing the sweep of dark hair out of his eyes and tucking it underneath his ever-present beanie. “Thanks, Betts.” He flashes her a brief smile.

 

Betty returns it, knowing she’s one of the lucky few that would get a Jughead smile today. She’s known Jughead almost her entire life. He’s been a steadfast friend for years, loyal, kind, and non-judgmental, even through the embarrassment of their high school years where Betty honestly probably deserved a little judgment. She’d spent two years pathetically pining over her next-door neighbour and best friend, Archie, one terrible year dating him (after which Betty could conclude definitively that the  _ idea  _ of dating Archie was a lot better than actually dating him), and one final year getting over him after they’d broken up. 

 

Embarrassing was truly the only word for it.

 

During it all, Jughead had remained a good friend to both of them, and after she and Archie had broken up it was Jughead that kept her smiling. Jughead, whose home life was possibly worse than anybody else’s in Riverdale, who had spent six months literally homeless before moving back in with his dad and then finally with the Andrews. He had a lot of valid reasons to be cynical and brooding, in Betty’s opinion. He also had a lot of valid reasons not to care about anybody else in the world, because the world had shown him time and again that it didn’t really give a shit about  _ him  _ either _.  _

 

But instead there he’d be, at the top of a ladder in her window, never more than ten minutes after she texted. Sometimes she’d cry, sometimes she’d vent, and sometimes she just wanted not to be alone. Kevin Keller, another close friend, was also great for post-Archie comfort, but Jughead knew Archie better than possibly anybody else, which made him a uniquely qualified Shoulder to Cry On. And pretty soon, Jughead’s sarcasm and sardonic humour turned his Shoulder to Cry On into the shoulder she’d laugh on.

 

In senior year, they rebooted the  _ Blue and Gold _ together, and it was during this period that Betty realized Jughead was some kind of weird human Zoloft, at least for her. He calmed her, made her smile,  _ regulated her  _ in a way that none of her prescriptions ever had. He became weirdly irreplaceable.

 

Betty could still feel the relief in her chest when he’d told her he’d decided to go to Boston University. She’d been accepted many places, but Boston University had offered her the best financial aid package, had the program she wanted - and now it would have her best friend.

 

Betty settles into her seat, propping her feet up against the wood of the empty chair in front of her. The professor begins speaking, and Betty’s fingers settle into a familiar steady rhythm as she tries to catch every word. She falls slightly behind and can feel the tension building in her chest, until the professor pauses to answer a clarifying question from a student, and she is able to catch up.

 

There’s a gentle tap on her elbow, and Betty lets out a breath that she didn’t realize she was holding. Jughead leans over and whispers, “Do you think he wore tweed diapers as a baby?” 

 

She suppresses a giggle. “Yes,” she decides, “definitely.”

 

“What do you have after this?” Jughead whispers.

 

Betty checks the schedule on her phone and shows him. English literature, a required course, a five minute walk across campus. He nods and shows her his, an art class in the opposite direction. She makes a disappointed face and types a draft text on her phone, because the professor has begun to lecture again, and whispering seems rude.

 

**_Come over for dinner?_ ** Betty types, showing him, and when Jughead nods she erases the message and writes another.  **_I’ll let Veronica know._ **

 

The lecture ends early, which Betty is glad for, because it’ll give her a couple of extra minutes to find her next class. Being early - or at the bare minimum, on time - is just one of Betty’s many neuroses. She packs up her stuff into her backpack hurriedly. “You remember where we are? Central East apartments.”

 

“I spent two hours of my life carrying boxes of pastel sweaters into that dorm,” Jughead says wryly. “It’s permanently etched into my brain. You’re sure Veronica won’t mind?”

 

“Nope. Plus she can get to know you better.” Betty slings her backpack onto her shoulders and pecks his cheek. “See you around six,” she calls over her shoulder as she hurries off.

 

\--

 

The noodles slide around in the boiling water, guided by the gentle stirring of the long-handled plastic spoon in Betty’s grasp. She checks her timer for the chicken in the oven - fifteen more minutes, perfect to coincide with the fettucine being done. Betty turns her attention to the saucepan beside the pot, where she’s melting parmesan cheese into heavy cream for homemade alfredo sauce.

 

“That smells amazing, Betty!”

 

Betty glances over her shoulder as her roommate, Veronica, enters their small shared kitchen. She smiles. “Thanks! Should be ready for when Jughead gets here. Thanks again for letting me have him over.”

 

Veronica shrugs and perches on the counter, delicately crossing her ankles. “He seems … nice.” Betty knows the particular inflection in her voice - Jughead sometimes brings it out in people. Uncertainty. He carries darkness with him the way Betty always tries to carry the light. His life hasn’t been easy, and he wears it like armour. It can take a while to break underneath, which doesn’t always leave for the best first impression. Veronica had met him when Jughead had helped Betty move in the week prior, and he’d been a little aloof. Which wasn’t to say that he had been rude - just quiet, his cover for what Betty really knew was shyness.

 

Betty turns back to the saucepan to stir and nods. “He is, really. He can take a little while to get to know.”

 

Veronica drums her perfectly manicured fingernails on the countertop. She was Betty’s university-matched roommate, a rich girl from New York whose mom (weirdly enough) actually had ties to the little town that Jughead and Betty were both from. She was already pushing Betty outside of her comfort zone, but delicately enough, and Betty liked her a lot so far.

 

“He doesn’t live on campus?”

 

Betty shook her head. “No, uh, he lives with his dad off campus.” She deliberately leaves out the fact that this is only because his father is in an outpatient treatment program for substance abuse (alcohol, primarily). That was Jughead’s story to tell if he so chose, and knowing Jughead, Betty knew he wouldn’t want anyone to know. Hell, it had taken years for her and Archie to figure out anything had been going on. He’d been in and out of various inpatient rehabs for most of senior year, the last of which this past summer had seemed to actually stick. His doctors had recommended an outpatient program to solidify his sobriety which wasn’t available in Riverdale, so when it became official that Jughead was going to move to Boston it had seemed like a logical partnership of situations.

 

Betty glances back at Veronica, who seems to be studying her. “What?” she asks, just as there’s a knock on the door. “Shit, Jug’s early.”

 

“I’ll get it,” Veronica says cheerfully, hopping down and smoothing out her skirt. She was always impeccably dressed, definitely not part of the blonde-and-leggings army.

 

Betty hears the door open, Veronica’s cheery greeting, and Jughead’s subdued reply. Then, a noise from Veronica that could only be described as  _ cooing.  _ Betty cranes her neck but can’t see around the corner, so she quits stirring for a moment and pops her head into the small living area. She immediately understands: Jughead has brought flowers.

 

_ “Look,  _ Betty, he brought flowers.” Veronica is grinning, holding the flowers in one hand and Jughead’s arm in the other. “So  _ sweet.” _

 

Jughead has never looked less comfortable. He gives her a look, and Betty suppresses a laugh. Maybe Veronica would be good for both of them. “Apparently housewarming presents are a thing,” he explains.

 

Betty nods with an amused smile. “I think we have a vase - or at least a tall glass or something in here.” She hears bubbling from the kitchen. “Shit.” She quickly runs back to see that the fettucine noodles have boiled over. Betty turns the burner off, the boiling subsides, and she gives her sauce another whisk to be safe.

 

“Can I help?” Veronica asks, appearing. She’s still holding the flowers, although Jughead has apparently managed to escape.

 

“Uh - can you stir the sauce? I just wanna dump the noodles before it gets too soft.” 

 

Veronica nods and obliges, stirring the sauce with her free hand. “So, Jughead,” she says conversationally as Betty drains the fettucine, “that cannot be your real name.”

 

“Believe it or not, the real thing is worse,” Jughead replies from the other room. “Can I do anything, Betts?”

 

“Nope.” Betty brings the drained pot of noodles back to the stove and takes the sauce from Veronica, combining the two. Her timer for the chicken goes off and she removes that from the oven, letting it cool while heating the sauce and fettucine together. “V, I think there’s a big glass in the top cupboard over there that those should fit in,” she tells Veronica, who follows her directions and then goes to join Jughead.

 

Betty serves the noodles into four portions and slices chicken over each, setting one aside in the fridge. The rest she brings out to the small table they’ve been eating at.

 

“Dinner,” she announces.

 

They sit to eat, Veronica leading the conversation as Betty expected. “So you’ve known Betty a long time?” she asks Jughead.

 

Jughead finishes chewing the mouthful of fettucine he was in the process of wolfing down. “Since before her hair fit into a ponytail,” he says, the neutral tone of his voice betrayed by the wink he gives Betty.

 

Betty understands the joke. She wears a ponytail basically every day, mostly out of ease than anything. Veronica has obviously observed this, because she snorts with laughter. “Excellent. Always good to have a source with background information.” She crosses her legs, prim in a way that reminds Betty impossibly of Alice Cooper.

 

“Careful, Juggie,” Betty warns teasingly. “I know your real name.”

 

Jughead smirks and flicks his thumb from his mouth, a familiar salute. “Betty has always been perfect,” he informs Veronica.

 

Betty blushes, flicking her eyes to her plate and then back to Jughead. “Oh come on.”

 

“You know, I actually believe that,” Veronica says, looking between Betty and Jughead. “Betty so far has been a dream roommate.”

 

Betty smiles at her and shrugs. “I’m clean and quiet, I guess. But Veronica has been great so far too, nothing has -- oops, sorry,” she apologizes, as her cell phone begins to ring. “I’ll turn it off, it’s - oh, shit. It’s my mom.” She makes a face at Veronica. “I should answer. So sorry, guys.” She excuses herself from the table and takes the call in the corner of the living room. “Hello?”

 

“Betty.” Her mother’s voice is stern even over the phone. “I thought you were going to call at 5:30 to check in.”

 

_ Damn it.  _ She knew she’d overlooked something. “Sorry Mom, I forgot,” Betty apologizes. “I was making dinner.”

 

“What did you make for dinner?”

 

“Fettucine alfredo with chicken breast,” she responds obediently, “but Mom, Veronica and Jughead are here, so I should--”

 

“Alfredo sauce is very fattening, Betty, you know that.” Her mother’s voice cuts in. “Eat something with vegetables tomorrow, a salad or stir-fry. And not so many empty carbs, you know how that--”

 

“Mom,” Betty interrupts, “I know how to feed myself.”  _ God.  _ The kitchen table is all quiet. This was not one of the better impressions to make on her new roommate.  _ Hi, I’m Betty, my parents are insane.  _

 

“Elizabeth Cooper, you will not interrupt me again!”

 

“Sorry, Mom,” Betty apologizes. “I just - I have company, I need to go.”

 

“Fine. Phone me later, you haven’t informed me how classes were.”

 

“Alright Mom, I will. Bye.” Betty hangs up and sets her cell phone on the side table in the corner, too embarrassed yet to turn around. She’d met Veronica’s mom when she moved and she’d seemed very nice. What if Veronica judged her for her overbearing mother? Betty wouldn’t even be able to blame her. Alice Cooper had scared off most new people who had tried to befriend Betty, and some old friends. Betty screws her eyes shut and inhales sharply, willing herself not to do this now. Things had been going so well with Veronica so far - it was probably too good to be true--

 

The gentle touch of hands on hers snaps Betty out of her reverie. Jughead is at her back, using the six inches he has on her to their full advantage. “You know what the best part about Boston is?” he mutters quietly into her ear, his fingers unravelling the tight fists she’d balled her hands into. His fingertips press firmly into the indentations left by her nails.

 

“Alice Cooper being six hours away?” Betty guesses, leaning back into his chest.

 

He chuckles softly, his breath tickling her collarbone. “That’s right.” Jughead squeezes her fingers. “C’mon. Go finish dinner before I eat the rest of yours.” More loudly, he asks, “Can I use your bathroom?”

 

Betty nods and points at it, situated between her and Veronica’s bedrooms. Jughead disappears into it, and Betty returns to the table, hoping her face isn’t too red. “Sorry about that,” she tells Veronica softly.

 

Veronica doesn’t miss a beat. “My dad is in jail.”

 

Betty’s head snaps toward her. “What?!”

 

“Fraud and embezzlement,” Veronica explains, flipping her hair too casually over her shoulder. “So don’t worry, B. I’ve got more than my share of family issues, too. If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here, but if you don’t want to, that’s cool too. For real.” She flashes a genuine smile at Betty.

 

Betty presses her lips together, the corners curving to return the smile. “Thanks, V.” She squeezes Veronica’s hand.

 

Veronica squeezes back. “Anytime. We gotta have each other’s backs.” She curves another bit of fettucine onto her fork. “By the way, this is amazing. The sauce is perfection.”

 

“Thank you,” Betty says, locking eyes with Jughead as he walks back in from the bathroom. She gives him a subtle nod, as if to say  _ it’s okay.  _ He sits down, seemingly satisfied, and inhales the rest of his food. She eats another few bites of hers until she’s full, then offers her plate to Jughead, who accepts it eagerly.

 

Veronica watches with slight amusement. “Do you have a bottomless pit for a stomach?”

 

Jughead nods. “Yep,” he says between bites.

 

“I’ve always been shocked by the fact that Juggie isn’t 600 pounds,” Betty teases, smiling kindly at Jughead.

 

“It’s a gift,” he asserts, dropping his fork on Betty’s empty plate and eyeing the small bit left on Veronica’s. “Are you--”

 

“Go ahead,” Veronica laughs, pushing the plate at Jughead. “Here, I’ll wash the dishes.” She stands up and collects the empty plates. Jughead finishes Veronica’s and takes that plate to the sink as well.

 

Jughead pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and glances at the time. “I should go,” he says, shifting his weight to his other foot.

 

“I’ll walk you to the door,” Betty says quickly, hopping up from the table. 

 

“Bye, Jughead!” Veronica calls from the sink, flashing her signature smile over her shoulder.

 

Jughead nods at her, then follows Betty to the door. Once they’re out of Veronica’s sight, Betty flings her arms around Jughead’s neck. He catches her, stumbling slightly, then slides his arms around her waist. “You’re doing awesome, Betty,” he tells her quietly, tugging on the end of her ponytail gently. “Don’t let your mom psych you out, okay?”

 

She nods into his shoulder. “Okay.” Betty sighs and pulls back slightly. “Thank you, Juggie. I don’t know what I would do without you. For real.” She kisses his cheek. “I’ll probably call you later, I - oh! Hang on.” She dashes to the kitchen, ignoring Veronica’s inquisitive look, grabs the other portion of dinner from the fridge, and returns to Jughead. “I made extra. For your dad.”

 

The look that crosses Jughead’s face almost breaks her heart in its sincerity. “Thanks, Betts,” he says quietly. “That goes both ways, you know. Not knowing what I’d do without - y’know.”

 

Betty nods, her cheeks hurting a little. “Yeah. I know.” She pushes the container into Jughead’s hands. “Let me know when you get home. And tell your dad I said hi.”

 

“Okay.” He takes it and stares down at it. “Will do. Um. Betty?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I - really, thank you for this.” Jughead lifts the container slightly. “I’m sure Dad says hi back.” His eyes drop, his breath seems to catch, then he looks up at her again. He leans in and presses his lips against hers, the softest and briefest of touches. “Talk to you later,” he says with a smirk, slipping through the door and leaving Betty mildly stunned.

 

She wanders back into the kitchen and sits at the table. Veronica looks over, amused. “Did loverboy leave?”

 

“He’s not - yeah,” she answers. “He’s gone.”

 

Veronica sets the last plate in the dish dryer and comes to sit at the table across from Betty. “I’m really getting a whole ‘dark and mysterious with a heart of gold’ vibe now,” she comments, dropping a slice of lime into sparkling water.

 

Betty laughs softly. “Yeah, kind of. He’s one of my oldest friends. He’s seen me through a lot.” She bites her lip, remembering his featherlight touch moments earlier. “And vice versa, I guess.”

 

Veronica smiles. “Well, hopefully the only stuff any of us will have to get through from now on will just be mundane college problems.”

 

“Agreed.” Betty looks down at her phone. No text from Jughead yet, but he’s only been gone for two minutes.  _ Jesus,  _ she thinks. She has it bad, already. 

 

There was going to be a lot to tell her diary later.

  
-

 

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for this. I am a woman possessed.


End file.
